


Little Guilt

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elves end in a messed up relationship, Incest, M/M, Son Issues, Substitution, When daddy issues and son issues collide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2816819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finwë and Curufin tackle their obsession with a certain someone together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Guilt

“Say it,” Finwë commanded hoarsely in his grandson's ear, breath laboured with the exertion of pushing into him. 

“Say it!”

Curufinwë pushed back with his ass, letting his grandfather sink as deep in him as was possible.

He had no reservations doing it. He never had, from the beginning. He would have done the same for his father, had he asked. With his grandfather, it was a threefold triumph. 

It was a slap in Indis's face. Finwë had surely never touched her as he touched him, laving attentions on every single patch of skin, languidly, fingers trembling and mouth avid before he took him, in the same bed where they had conceived their ill-bred children. 

It made Finwë happy, and if Finwë was happy, his happiness would reflect on his own father. 

It brought him closer to his father. It was something that Fëanáro couldn't do, Finwë's guilt towards him was too intricate, his adoration absolute, he could never never have brought himself to draw him into a permutation of love to which so much more guilt and reprobation were attached. 

Thus Curufinwë readily let his grandfather take him however he wished, and just as readily complied with the request that unfailingly came at the height of pleasure – when Finwë moved in a frenzy over and inside him, and his hair, his famed hair, was in disarray and stuck to his forehead with the sweat of abandoned, sinful sex – and uttered the one word, the sacred word, that united them, and that was the marrow of their existence.

“Father.”

*

“Father.”

Finwë emitted a wail-like moan and slumped forward, burying his face onto Curufinwë's shoulder. 

“Again,” he said, and it was an imploration.

Curufinwë wrapped himself around him, arms and legs locked behind his back in a warm-sticky cocoon. 

“Father,” he repeated, and every gasping susurration clotted pleasure more and more heavily in Finwë's loins, so that not even the force of his thrusts was enough to give vent to it. 

His orgasm wasn't either, but it was momentary reprieve.

“I love you. I love you more than anything,” he vowed in between raining kisses on Curufinwë's flushed face, while the last ripples of ecstasy made his hips jerk spasmodically.

Curufinwë's own body jolted as Finwë's hand brought him to orgasm too, and he basked in the reverent intensity of his gaze, a reverent gratitude which was as much for him as it was for his namesake, and by which he felt his existence was realized in its every facet (like a gem finally polished). 

He panted his response, for both.

“I love you too, Father.”


End file.
